The False Shepherd
by KenCosgrove
Summary: Zachary Hale Comstock set up the perfect life for himself in the floating city of Columbia. Despite hindrances along the way, he was renown for his prophetic ability, and speaking prowess. But now all that is threatened by one insatiable man who will stop at nothing to steal the thing Comstock most loves.
1. Chapter 1

_**Somewhere above the coast of Maine, 1912**_

A mighty rushing wind was blowing through the office of an elderly man. He had just recently opened the

windows of the room and let air in; 'too stuffy', he thought. The room doubled as a library in which no

expense was spared. Two floors; wall to ceiling books encased in rich mahogany. A wood burning fireplace

and a large hearth sat against the far wall; the fire was lit.

The old man turned to look out the window, a beautiful day was blossoming in the clouds of Columbia.

Small electrobirds were fluttering about the sky, humming the Columbian anthem proudly. The yearly raffle

was occurring; Columbians were out and about in full swing. The church bells were clanging loudly in the

square; the man could see at quite a distance. Finally, the statue of Columbia stood resolute, lording over the

thriving city below.

There was a quick rap at the oak doors.

"Come in." the old man said.

"Mr. Jeremiah Fink is wanting to see you, Father."

"Send him in." The old man sat down. A tall man man, perhaps in his mid forties walked through the doors.

He was wearing a long grey breach coat and top hat.

"Good morning Father Comstock." He smiled, looking around to see if anyone else was lurking about. "I

hope I'm not disturbing anything." He moved swiftly and sat down in a grandfather chair. The old man joined

him.

"Nothing at all. Preparations for The Raffle complete?"

"Yes the whole city is in an uproar." His face lit up brightly and he smiled.

"Would you appreciate a ride?" Comstock asked.

"Yes, of course." Fink smiled.

"Gerald." Comstock hollered. The elderly man stood up, adjusting his black frock, and cinched his center

button. A large zeppelin buzzed by the window; his face plastered in ink onto the side.

"Yes, Father?" The Butler walked in.

"It's almost ten." He mumbled. "Did Henry come by with the mail?"

"No Father, yet again he's late. We may have to fire him."

"Clemency my son, clemency." Comstock turned around to face Jeremiah Fink. "He has been late only twice

in the past two weeks, lest Sunday when I saw him in the tenth row attending mass."

"Alright Father." Gerald responded.

The door bell rang out in the hall.

"Henry must be here Father."

Comstock raised his hand in dismissal and waited for the butler to return with news.

"It is him, he has a package for you and it's urgent."

"Thank you Gerald. Ready the electro-stallion, we are going out to The Raffle."

"Absolutely Father." the man scurried away. Father Comstock walked over to Fink who was still sitting down.

"Have you lined up the offenders? Last year we did not have nearly enough."

"Yes it`s all been arranged. We have five sets of two instead of three sets." Fink stood from his seat.

"Alright then. We're going to be late unless we leave now." Comstock walked over to the door and held it

open for Fink. They walked in silence to the front door.

"So sorry I'm late, Father. I ran as fast as I could."

"You're here." Comstock smiled. "That's what matters." The young boy handed over a long rectangular box

with the words EXPRESS printed on them.

"Must be something important, perhaps new copies of The Book of Our Prophet?"

"Not quite, young Henry." Comstock smiled. "Run along, I'm sure more packages await deliveries."

"Of course." The boy bowed to both people in front of him. "See you tomorrow, Father. Mr Fink." The boy

ran off down the street. Within a moment, a large wooden coach pulled up, driven by two black electro-

stallions. The Father and Jeremiah Fink boarded and the stallions took off towards the northern part of the

city. It was a quiet and pleasant ride; many passersby wished Comstock well. "Be praying" he said in

response. After a short time, they arrived at a private entrance overlooking the raffle area. In a large square

thousands were gathered to see The Raffle as it happened in its 19th year. Fink disembarked first,Comstock

followed suit.

"Zachary." a familiar voice from behind him spoke. Comstock turned around to see a thin woman, with read

hair and green eyes. She was wearing a long skirt with a green tie and green blazer on. He recognized her

immediately.

"Ms. Lutece."

"Heads, or tails." She muttered.

"What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here." Comstock said as he took a step towards her.

"Heads, or tails." She muttered.

"What's the meaning of this?" Fink muttered. "She has the indignancy to call you by name?"

"Hush, Fink." Comstock said to the man, and then turned to face Rosalind Lutece. Tell her tails, No. No,

heads. Yes heads. No, it can't be. Tails.

"Tails." Comstock muttered. The coin flipped through the air and landed heads up. The woman reached for

a piece of chalk, and nicked a line underneath the word HEADS. The board was covered in nicks below

heads, and yet not a single line below tails.

"Curious." Father Comstock murmured aloud.

"Curious indeed." Rosalind smiled devilishly and then turn away. "Have you checked on Elizabeth?" She said.

"Why?" Comstock took a step towards Lutece, but she had turned behind the coach. He followed her, once

again asking the question.

"Who are you to..."

No one was behind the coach. Jeremiah ran to his side.

"Where did she go?" he asked.

"Not here. It's no matter." Zachary thought to himself quietly.

"Regardless, she was using an indecent tone and playing childish games."

Comstock did not respond. "Zachary?" Fink grabbed his arm.

'Right." He quipped. "Head down to your post, I'll watch from the balustrade."

"Of course." He smiled to Comstock, and they split directions; Comstock into the elevator which took them

to a balcony overseeing the entire square, and Fink down to the announcers booth. The fanfare was

becoming overwhelmingly loud and Jeremiah Fink quickly took to the stage.

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen! And welcome to Columbia's 19th consecutive Raffle!" The crowd went

wild; slowly sound dissipated. "I am pleased to announce a special line for all of you today, we are going to

draw for the prize in just a moment."

"Zachary, did you know that woman outside?" a womanly voice said.

"Hmm?" He turned towards the voice, but no one was around. "Hello?" he mumbled. No response. He

turned back around.

"How do you know the woman who met you outside?" the voice said again.

Comstock stood up and began to search the balcony.

'Who's there?" He looked around the various pots against the crowd screamed and then hushed as

Fink pulled a number card from a large fish bowl. Comstock ran to his seat and unwrapped a small double

barreled shotgun from the package Henry had given him.

"Why on earth did you buy that?" A man's voice said.

"Lutece, is that you?" Comstock questioned.

"When isn't it us?" a female voice questioned back. Suddenly Rosalind Lutece appeared beside Comstock.

"You can't be here Lutece. Leave. or I'll have you arrested." Comstock looked down intently to the

announcer as he began reading the ballot.

"The number is... 77! Who has number 77?"

"You can't arrest us Zachary." Rosalind said.

"We're never truly here." Robert Lutece added.

A young man with dark hair and a vest walked slowly through the crowd.

"What a lucky gentleman." Robert reported. Zachary said nothing but watched intently.

"Step right up son, take a ball. We've got a good batch this year!"

The giant red curtains rolled back to reveal two people, a man in a clown-looking black blazer and a black

woman in a greyed dress. They were bound at the hands, affixed to two wooden poles.

"Take the first throw son."

The man with the ball hesitated a moment. The man in the vest wound up, and was about the launch the ball

towards the stage when it appeared a policeman grabbed his arm and screamed aloud, "It's the false

shepherd!"

The crowd gasped as police began surrounding the area.

"Mr. False Shepherd eh?" Fink said contemptuously. "We've been looking for you."

One of the policeman on the grounds said something incoherent and reached for his skyhook.

"No!" Comstock shouted, standing from his chair. "I want him alive!"

The man on the ground punched the officer with the hook, and drove another officer's face into the first

officers hook, killing him instantly. The square erupted in a sea of panic as people screamed and rushed for

the exits, some trampling incoming officers. A few of the officers around him tried to fight off the False

Shepherd, but he was too quick, and overcame them.

"Prowling around like a lion, seeking someone to devour." Comstock said. He looked down to Fink who was

looking up at him from the corner stage. He motioned Fink to go to the coach.

Father Comstock did not move as he watched the man in the vest push through hoards of policeman who

were now wielding guns. They shot at him but his eyes were too quick; he had them shot in an instant.

Comstock grabbed the shotgun forcibly and moved for the elevator.

"Grumman, get us to the statue immediately." Comstock shouted at the coach jockey. Immediately the coach

took off towards the distant statue while only a short few feet away, Booker DeWitt made his way through a

throng of policeman, clueless as to his own objectives beyond a note he received.

 _'Bring back the girl, and wipe away the debt'_


	2. Chapter 2- Rush to Monument Island

The electro-stallions raced quickly towards Comstock House; Jeremiah Fink disboarded and turned to his partner

in business.  
"What's your plan from here Zachary."

"Keep the False Shepherd away from my daughter. At all costs. I expect he'll be coming your way." Comstock

disboarded the coach. "Keep an eye out."

"Always. Talk soon." Fink began walking away and hailed a taxi stallion.

"Hugh!" Comstock shouted. "I'm sure by now, you've heard the news of the raffle?" The door man curtley

appeared.

"Yes, Father. They are annoucing it over the radio."

"I want you to get in contact with Commisioner Lombard, at the police department. Tell him to call with updates,

even if I'm not present, take a message, pass it on to Gerald."

"Absolutely, Father."

Comstock rose from the street, got into the gondola, and ascended to his home that loomed over his city. He ran

to his office and picked up the telephone, calling The Statue.

"Monument Island." A voice on the other end received the call.

"The False Shepherd is making his way towards you. I want the entire building on high alert. You have shoot on

sight authority."

"Alright Father, thank you." The receiver went dead, and Comstock hung up the phone. He could feel the danger

encroaching, all his life's work came down to stopping this man from stealing his precious child. A bead of sweat glistened on

his brow. The telephone rang and he rushed.

"Hello?"

"Father Comstock, It's Comissioner Lombard." His voice was very matter-of-fact. "The Falsh Shepherd has made

his way through many of our police barricades. He's using the skyrails to fly from location to location, I fear he's already taken

down too many of our men."

"No, keep on him. I want him stopped, before he gets to Monument Island. I will come out there and shoot them

if necessary!" Comstock was nearly shouting.

"That's certainly not necessary, sir. We'll will keep on him."

"Good, good. Songbird is flying about?"

"Yes, he's in the skies around the Island. He is watching over the lamb, Father."

"Good show, Lombard. Call back with deatils." Comstock hung up the telephone, grabbed his overcoat and ran

towards the gondola.

* * *

In another part of Columbia, another man had just ascended into the bright, vibrant city from the Sodom below.

He was in his mid thirties, dressed in a suit with a reverends collar decorating his neck. He had jet black hair, round

spectacles and a small scar that adorned his right high cheek. His lips were small, and often appeared to be pursed in

intensity. His deep green eyes darted about as the cask opened into the church. Singing voices carried about in the room and

he read aloud the writings on the well lit walls.

"And the seed of the prophet shall lead the people to the new eden..." He mumbled. Wading through the water,

the man made his way through the Welcome Center, and read the large beacons above the beautiful stainglass, each time

becoming more and more confused.

'Does this 'prophet' assume divinity?' The man wondered. Upon reaching the staircase, a tall man with blond hair

and an incredibly deep voice spoke. "Are you looking for passage."

"Yes." the first man replied.

"It comes from within, my son."

"I think you misunderstand, I seek passage into the city."

"You seek baptism then." The man responded, and the first man became slightly irritated.

"No, I've already been baptized, I want to enter the city."

"One must be baptized into the waters of Columbia first." The man went back into vocal prayer, speaking in

tongues.

Without a response, the black haired man descended the staircase to where the loud vocal music was ringing

from. It was a great hall, lit by candels and the light of the sun. A small group was gathering at the front; in the water, many

were bent kneed in prayer. He waded through the water in the main area until he reached a preacher who spoke loudly.

"What is this we have here! Another convert from the Sodom below?"

"I just need passage into the city."

"We all do, my son." The preacher looked more intently at the man's neck. "I see we have a man of the cloth,

where are you from, Reverend?"

"Wiscasset."

"No longer are you from Wiscasset, Reverend...?" The preacher waited for the man's response.

"Hamilton. Henry Hamilton."

The preacher reached out his hand to the reverend and said; "Reverend Hamilton, will you be baptized from the

Sodom below into this new Eden of our prophet, forsaking your past and coming into the future." Reluctantly the reverend

replied.

"I will." 'not' he spoke under his breath. The preacher grabbed Hamilton's hand.

"Then by the power invested in me but our Prophet, this great city and the Lord, I baptize you!`

Hamilton was dunked under for a brief moment before the water rushed and took him for a ride. The ground

tilted down and he could feel the rush as the water slid down a plain. Lifting his head for a moment, he realized his was

sailing down a slide and was quickly ejected into a fountain in a garden. 3 large statues from America's vibrant past loomed

over him, though they were dressed in cloth and had 'Father' in front of their names. Reverend Hamilton stood shaking the

water from his soaked clothes, and stepped out from the pool. After observing the garden briefly, walking past the followers

of the preacher and his Prophet, he finally cleared his way into the city.

* * *

The phone in Zachary Comstock's office began ringing. He was staring out the large bay window with a pair of

binoculars, searching for a sign of the location of the False Shepherd. Immediately he dropped the binoculars beside him

and ran to pick up the phone.

"Yes? What is it?"

"It's Lombard, Father. He's made it to to the Island platform before the gondola. My men can't stand against him,

it's like fate is pushing him forward through anything we throw at him."

"Did you block the skyrails?"

"We tried to sir, he simply jumped from rail to rail."

"Blast." Comstock shouted. "Does the announcement system still work on the platform?"

"Yes, I believe so." Commissioner Lombard replied.

"I'm going to talk to him. Get your men to stand down, and pray."

"What? Sir, I hardly feel this is a time for prayer."

"Lombard, I know how this ends. Let me speak to him, and have your men stand down."

"Yes, Father. I will have them stand down."

Comstock hung up the receiver and placed the phone back onto his desk. He then walked over to an old machine

that resembled a radio and tuned the large dial on its face. He opened the top and pulled out a microphone. Through the

speakers he could hear the guards shooting, and then a silence, followed by footsteps. A single shot rang out, and then he

could hear people speaking.

"False Shepherd. I see you've made it deep into my fair city." He awaited eagerly a response.

"Comstock." He heard a familiar voice reply.

"Welcome to Columbia, son."

'Why don't you want me here?" DeWitt shouted.

"Why, because you're here to steal away the lamb!"

"I don't have a choice." The voice replied. "I have to..."

"Pay back the debt." Comstock cut him off. "What debt DeWitt? What debt do you owe?"

"Well..." The man stood in silence. "I don't know. All I know is that i need to bring Elizabeth back to New York."

"Exactly. I know how this ends DeWitt. It doesn't end well for you my friend."

"Goodbye, Comstock."

The loud whip-crack of a shot rang out and the radio signal died.


End file.
